


Fate/Infinite Zero

by ryulabird



Category: Fate/Zero, Fate/stay night & Related Fandoms, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Harry-centric, Master & Servant, Master of Death Harry Potter, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Servants are the best, Why Did I Write This?, author doesn't know what she's doing, because Harry Potter shouldn't be there, just let Diarmuid be happy!, when I figure out what I'm doing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-25
Updated: 2017-06-25
Packaged: 2018-10-20 20:00:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10669761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ryulabird/pseuds/ryulabird
Summary: Harry is the Master of Death, he has been ever since he died in the Forest when he was still seventeen. But being the Master of Death isn't anything like he, or anyone, thought it would be.Thanks to his title, Harry is in a whole new world with new magic, new rules, and new trouble for him to get mixed up in. Because of course he'd walk right into a mess as ridiculous as a Holy Grail War. Of course.





	1. Unaccounted For

**Author's Note:**

> I swear I have no idea what I'm doing or how this happened. All I did was watch Fate/Zero and Fate/Infinite Bladeworks on Netflix! In...two days.... Aside from not sleeping, this is NOT my fault!

 

                                                                        

** Unaccounted For **

 

It was an average day when Harry’s life went to hell. He was sorting mail and parcels to be delivered across the Clock Tower school, when a bright light burned from his hand as he picked a brown paper package up to read the address.

Harry dropped the box in shock, then cursed when it landed on his foot like a lead weight. He hopped around until Alan came in to see what all the fuss was.

“Oh, I dropped a package on my foot,” Harry answered as he knelt down to find the box that had bounced away under the table. “Someone’s shipping rocks or..something…” Harry froze as he reached a hand out to grab the offending box and he saw the mark that appeared on him.

“Hah! Better hope you didn’t break anything,” Alan laughed, coming into the room to check on his progress. “Some of the professors send pretty expensive stuff through the Association you know.”

“Oh! Er, right,” Harry forced himself to grab the box and stand up. He tried to keep the back of his hand hidden without making it look like he was hiding it. “Anything this heavy shouldn’t break easily.” He put the package on the table and busied himself with sorting the pile of packages he still had to go through.

“We should probably still check, just in case,” Alan said, and he reached over to pick the box up.

“We can’t open it!’ Harry said quickly. He wondered if this was some new hazing method his senior had come up with. Surely the worry of a broken shipment was bad enough, there wasn’t any need to snoop as well.

Alan gave him a smug, almost indulgent smirk. “Don’t worry. I’m not opening it, I’m only going to check that the contents are undamaged with a spell.”

Harry blinked. “Oh. You can do that?”

“Yes, Harry.” Alan chuckled. “It’s very simple.”

Harry fought to keep his face blank. There it was, the minor bullying he had come to expect from everyone he met in Clock Tower. It rarely went beyond rude or condescending comments, but Merlin it was annoying to put up with.

Still, even though he knew it was exactly the reaction Alan wanted, Harry paid close attention as the man held the box up and muttered strange arcane phrases and waved his hand. The magic in this place was always so odd and complicated, Harry never could help but peer closer when a spell was done in front of him. Which only marked him out as even more of a clueless “Frame” who never got the chance to learn “real” magic.

At least, that was how he seemed to the mages around him, the magicals of this strange, yet familiar Earth Harry now lived on. They all thought him to be a firstborn mage who wasn’t impressive enough to earn a sponsorship from an established mage family. He was just some nobody who would never get to be a real mage, but still had the blood for magic. So he was allowed to work as a low flunky of the Association and, if he was very lucky, some mage family might let him marry in so his children could have the chance to learn magic.

“Well, it seems to be some metal fragment, so it's probably fine,” Alan finally said. “Where is this going to?” He looked at the address. “Ah!” Alan cried out and juggled the box before quickly tossing it to Harry.

“Hey! Just cause it’s metal doesn’t mean it can’t be broken!” Harry said in annoyance. He covered his right hand with the package and shot his co-worker a glare.

“Heh heh, yeah, sorry,” Alan said as he backed away. “Well, you should get back to work, and don’t forget the special instructions we got this morning!”

“Special instructions…?” Harry frowned in thought. “Oh, you mean about deliveries to that one Professor?”

“Yep!” Alan grinned as he reached the door. “Better go over them again, cause it looks like you’re our first offering!”

Harry blinked as Alan went back to his own station, laughing the whole way, and looked down at the package’s address.

_To: Lord Kayneth El-Melloi Archibald, Department of Spiritual Evocation_

Merlin’s balls. Harry groaned and raised his free hand to cradle his forehead.

This particular teacher was known around Clock Tower as one of the pureblood elitists - long magical heritage, powerful political connections, a genius at magecraft. All signs that the man would do great things, but Harry had heard the man also had a lot of the less favorable traits of purebloods from his own world - like a general arrogance and a belief that blood was what mattered in magic, as well as a nasty attitude for anyone he considered below him.

That morning when he came in for work, everyone found out that _the_ Lord Archibald’s package had gone missing the previous week. Apparently it had been handed off to one of the Lord’s students with the expectation the boy would bring it to the man. The weekend had passed and Lord Archibald had sent a message asking when his package would arrive. Once the mail office realized what had happened, they informed the Lord and he basically lost it. The man who’d handed the package away was fired, the whole office was in disgrace, and the new orders on how to handle Lord Archibald’s mail was introduced.

Not a moment too soon either, as it seemed the furious professor had a new package he was expecting. No wonder Alan had made himself scarce when he saw who the package was for.

Harry resigned himself to having an annoying afternoon and sat down at his table. Archibald’s box was placed before him and he brought his right hand up to inspect the mark that had appeared when he first picked the box up.

It was blood red and stood out harshly against Harry’s skin, but while it had stung and blinded him when it first appeared, now it was dull and felt like nothing at all. Running his fingers over it revealed only smooth skin, as if the mark were an old tattoo and had been part of him for years. What troubled Harry most though, was that it was clearly a stylized mark of the Hallows. The Wand, the Stone, and the Cloak, each line separate but more ornate than Harry had ever seen them drawn in his world.

Why had picking up a package with a piece of metal in it caused such a mark to appear? Could the object inside the box be connected to the Hallows somehow?

Harry couldn’t imagine how. The Deathly Hallows were from his own world, and a part of him now. They shouldn’t have any connection to anything from another world. He needed to find out what this object was, but he couldn’t risk stealing it, not if it belonged to one of the top mages in this world.

The workings of this world’s magic users was so confusing to Harry, their methods and culture almost alien when compared to the witches and wizards of his home. They were strange even compared to the myriad magical worlds Harry had been to before this one. He could barely fit in as one of the lowest members of their group, and he didn’t know if he could deal with being the enemy of one of their most prominent figures.

Harry sighed and returned to sorting his allotment of mail for the day. For now, he would need to hide the mark with a Notice-Me-Not charm. Then he would have to deliver the package and, with luck, convince the arrogant Lord to reveal what his package truly was. If Harry could get a clue about the item, he could figure out how it singled out the Master of Death.

 

By lunch, Harry had managed to place the charm on the mark and test it against his co-workers and some of the staff of Clock Tower. He’d been worried that his magic might be noticed by the various mages around him, and since he was supposed to be an “un-trained” nobody, it might have got him in trouble. However, no one seemed to notice any magic on him, even when Harry deliberately brought their attention to his hand.

At least that had worked out well. Unfortunately, by midday, _everyone_ in the mailrooms knew that Harry was the lucky sacrifice to Lord Archibald’s first package delivery. They all made sure Harry knew that they knew too, and he was very close to losing his temper.

Harry had decided he needed to leave this delivery for the end of the day if he wanted any chance speaking to such a busy man. The fact it was obvious he was waiting until the last possible second only made it look to his co-workers as if he was avoiding the Lord. Which was fine, but it did make everyone tease and harass him even more because they thought he was afraid.

So many condescending smirks and knowing chuckles followed Harry as he made his first round of drop-offs and took his break, that he was starting to regret his decision. He really wanted to smack a few people upside the head, but an attitude like that would work against him with a man like _Lord_ Archibald. He couldn't afford to get distracted.

Finally, the last bell of the work day rang through the Clock Tower complex, and Harry hopped down from his table and picked up the last delivery he had. Most everyone else in the mail offices had finished work hours ago and either left or had work sorting mail to be sent out of the school, so Harry had thankfully been left alone for a bit.

It was a good thing too, because when Harry caught up with Lord Archibald getting ready to lock up his office, the man was less than pleased to receive his package so late.

“Why couldn’t you have delivered this to me in the morning?” Archibald said stiffly. Harry assumed he was trying to do that gentry thing of maintaining his composure so as not to draw attention. He thought the man could do it better if he weren’t clenching his fists at his sides with restrained fury.

“I told you, sir,” Harry said as contritely as he could (which wasn’t much). “New rules indicate that when a personage such as yourself receives a package, it must be delivered in person and its contents verified. You’ve been in classes or meetings all day, so this was the first opportunity to ensure correct delivery.”

“It could have been brought to me first thing this morning, _before_ classes started!”

Harry refrained from rolling his eyes. “It only arrived with this morning's mail, sir. Classes had already begun by the time the package was accepted and sorted out.”

“Then you could have brought it to me during lunch, or between classes!” Lord Archibald was turning such a bright shade of reddish purple, that Harry might have worried he was having trouble breathing, except no one who couldn’t breathe talked so much.

“You didn’t remain on the campus for lunch, sir.” Harry was lucky to have been told this little tidbit-- in as smarmy a tone as his informer could get-- because he hadn’t even tried to deliver the package then, and it was the perfect excuse. “Also, I didn’t think you would wish to have to verify the content of your package in the hallways with so many students around.”

Lord Archibald paled, then flushed again, so fast Harry was impressed the man didn’t pass out. “You expect me to open _my_ property in order to give _you_ the opportunity to gawk!” The lord’s voice rose, in volume and pitch, until the last word was practically gasped out like a shriek of air escaping from a tea kettle.

“Of course not, sir,” Harry said calmly, and really he should get an award for managing to respond without yelling. “The department merely wishes for me to be witness to you verifying the expected contents of your package. If there is any issue with your delivery, we wish to correct it as quickly as possible.”

“I would not need to submit to such foolish mollycoddling if not for your extreme incompetence!” Archibald said loudly before finally turning back to his office and striding inside.

Harry resisted making any faces until he was well away from the man. If it turned out this package had nothing to do with his mark, he was going to be thoroughly annoyed.

“That I must put up with this useless gesture after it was _your_ office that lost me my property!” Archibald seemed content to gripe and snarl as he walked around his desk and sat down before beginning to unwrap his package. Harry wasn’t sure why, except maybe some feeble attempt at using the large desk as intimidation. Perhaps Archibald was used to only dealing with students.

“If I had my way, the whole lot of you would be on the streets for this outrage!” Archibald tossed the brown paper into the bin and glared up at Harry. “People like you shouldn’t even be allowed to set foot on such hallowed ground as this school! Not even for the most subservient tasks!”

“So who would you have serve under you, your _lordship?”_ Harry asked snidely. “Surely not a mage equal to you?”

Archibald flushed red once again. “Be careful, _servant_ , that almost sounded like insolence. _Know your place,”_ was forced out through clenched teeth.

Harry almost retorted with _I thought being a servant here wasn’t my place_ , but bit it back and bowed his head. He had to focus.

“My apologies, Lord Archibald. I meant no offense, I am only trying to comply with the office’s new regulations.”

Archibald snorted and leaned back in his chair, the perfect picture of an arrogant pureblood wizard-- magus. Whatever.

“The fact that the Department of Universal Research is even allowed to staff its lower offices with useless riff-raff like you brings shame to the whole of Clock Tower.”

“But it’s the only department that is completely neutral, so the only one that can be counted on not to mess with other departments’ mail,” Harry said blandly.

“And yet you still managed to lose one of my precious artifacts!” Archibald sneered at him and picked up the white box he’d unwrapped but not yet opened. “So I am lowered to scrambling for any halfway worthy replacement!”

“The Mail Office apologizes for putting our trust in your students, Lord Archibald,” Harry said, as mildly as he could, but he had really had enough of this man. No clue was worth this. “It never occurred to us that one of your own would betray you.”

Archibald grit his teeth and looked very much like he’d swallowed a lemon, but made no comment. He tore off the lid of the box and let the contents of his package tumble out onto his desk.

“One ancient artifact for a powerful magical ritual, the likes of which _you_ will never witness, nor hope to comprehend, duly delivered-- at last!” he snarled. Then he snatched up the lump of metal-- some kind of knife, or maybe a long arrowhead-- and stood up. “So you may consider your services, inadequate though they were, to be concluded. You are dismissed, _servant!”_

Harry turned around smartly and stalked out. He barely managed to keep from growling as he made his way back to the mailroom and clocked out. Yeah, putting up with that arse had totally not been worth it. He’d seen the item, and Archibald had called it an ancient artifact, but that still didn’t tell Harry what it was, or what sort of ritual it was needed for.

His only option now was to follow the git and hope he’d be stupid enough to blather information about whatever that artifact was out loud to someone else. At least Harry had proven that one of his charms could pass by these mages unnoticed. The invisibility he gained from the Cloak should be more than enough to hide him from his _lordship_.

 

Following the great magus Archibald was more a test of patience than skill for Harry. He was right in thinking the Cloak’s invisibility would protect him from the man’s sight and magic. But having to quietly keep pace with the man as he either berated or scoffed at nearly everyone who crossed his path as he left Clock Tower was frankly agonizing.

Thankfully, he didn’t have to tail Archibald for very long because, almost the instant he returned home, he made a phone call and started talking about the package he’d just received.

“Of course it won’t be as good as the one we lost, but it should serve just as well for our plan,” Archibald said eagerly into the receiver. “After all, so long as I retain the ability to use my mana as needed, none of the other Masters will stand a chance!”

Harry watched as the man’s face went through various expressions of smugness and superiority. He knew that mana was what people here called magic, or was it the energy they used to make magic? Regardless, he wasn’t sure what the “masters” were, it wasn’t a title he’d heard the mages at Clock Tower use before.

“Obviously we’ll need to hold the ritual tonight. The gibbous moon will aid in the revisions I’ve written into the incantation, and having a Servant before the rest when they summon theirs on the full moon will allow us to scout the terrain safely. Everything will be to our advantage in the coming war.”

While Archibald relaxed and began congratulating himself, Harry worried. Masters, servants, a ritual, and a war? This was sounding worse by the minute, yet he still had no idea what was happening or how it connected to the Hallows.

“Then I shall expect you by 11 o'clock at the latest. I’ll have most preparations done by then, but the outer circle shall need to be drawn with blood that will tie the Servant to the appropriate mana source,” Archibald said. He sounded pleased and almost giddy, something Harry wouldn’t have expected from such a sour man, but the mention of blood was troubling.

They weren’t summoning demons, were they? Harry chewed his lip as he watched the magus finish his phone call and pick up the metal scrap artifact to admire it. A demon summoning shouldn’t have anything to do with him, but…maybe…. Sometimes, people tried to do crazy things like become immortal by summoning death. It never worked of course, and the way Archibald talked about “servants” and such didn’t quite fit. But there was still a lot about this world’s magic that Harry didn’t understand.

He would have to see. It sounded like whatever Archibald was doing, it would be done by tonight. Harry could wait that long, and if it turned out to be something he didn’t approve of well, he would be there to stop it.

 

Harry found himself surprisingly entertained by Archibald’s preparations for his ritual. That was partly because the magus had insisted on being left alone in his private workshop, and so didn’t have anyone to insult while he worked. The rest was because Harry was simply fascinated by the magic Archibald was crafting. It was truly unlike anything he had seen before.

Harry had stuck himself in a corner to watch while the arrogant man had cleaned his work area by hand, even deigning to get on hands and knees to ensure the cleared floor of the room was spotlessly clean. Harry certainly hadn’t expected that, but it was one of the differences that confused him about magic users here. They were all arrogant in terms of blood and power, yet it seemed even the most elite of them was content to do menial chores by hand if it was for their spellwork.

Next he was shocked to watch the magus kill a trussed up boar some servants brought for him before leaving again, and then drain the blood into a bucket, all by his own hand. It was dirty, smelly work, yet Harry was surprised to find Archibald not only not complaining, but actually looking happy. Then for several hours, Archibald was again on hands and knees, using the blood he’d collected to paint an elaborate array of circles and lines and strange letters

If this had been Harry’s own world, magic would have begun building in the air the moment the first stroke was placed. But here in this world, the air was still, empty, and if Harry didn’t already know Archibald was a magic user, he would have assumed the man to be a muggle playing around. He wondered what would cause magic to come if not blood.

By the time someone knocked and entered Archibald’s workroom, he had nearly finished drawing the elaborate ritual circle. Harry still couldn’t make heads or tales of the symbols, but he thought the arrangement of lines and circles could be arithmancically similar to magic circles from his world. If he was reading it right, power should be directed to summon and bind….something at the center of the circle. But Harry couldn't tell if there were any restrictions in the circle to trap or control whatever was summoned, nor what the summoned creature would be. Those instructions might have been in the strange script written around the circle however.

As for Archibald’s helper, Harry had the privilege of witnessing the arrogant magus become even more insufferably smug, yet at the same time almost shy, while speaking to the woman who’d come. Harry hadn’t quite caught her name, too distracted with trying to read the foreign letters in the circle. But she seemed a good match for Archibald, having a very similar disposition in Harry’s opinion.

He hoped they finished quickly so he didn’t have to listen to more of their sniping.

“Now, with your blood as the final binding for the circle,” Archibald was saying as he finally stood up and looked over at the woman, “and the aid of the moon, my re-written version of the ritual should give us perfect control over the power disbursement for the Servant.”

“I certainly hope that is the case, given how much you used.” The woman sniffed and rubbed the inside of her elbow. “Surely if you had more time, you would have crafted a more refined version and would not have needed such a sizable donation from me. Especially considering the long term donation I will be making for this.”

Archibald frowned and looked away. “I assure you, my dear, only drawing the outer rim of the circle in your blood was the smallest contribution possible. As you are not connected to the Command Seals, an identifier must be added to the ritual in order for your mana to take my place in the transference.”

Merlin, was Harry ever looking forward to this being done with.

“And I am quite certain you might have done better with more time.” The woman smiled, not very nicely. “Especially if you still had your first choice of catalyst.”

Archibald seemed to be clenching his jaw to keep from answering. The woman shook her head commiseratingly and walked to stand beside him.

“Of course what revisions you were able to make will still be enough to assure your victory. Honestly Kayneth, do try to relax,” she laughed.

“You’re right of course,” Archibald said, apparently put at ease by the woman’s confidence. “With such an advantage the Grail War shall have only one natural outcome!”

Harry frowned as he watched the two mages from across the bloody circle. So, this war was a Grail war? They couldn’t mean the _actual_ Grail,could they? The more he learned, the less he liked this whole situation. But it was too late to change his mind about watching things before deciding what to do, because it seemed to finally be time.

“The circle is completed!” Archibald said grandly, throwing a hand out dramatically. “Now, all we need is to set the catalyst upon the altar before it, and we shall summon our Servant!”

“Yes, yes,” the woman smiled indulgently and rolled her eyes as she walked around the circle. She grabbed the metal shard off one of the desks Archibald had pushed out of the way to make room for the circle, and continued on to a stone table that had been shoved to one end of the room at the top of where the circle had been laid out. “Do you remember all the lines?”

“Of course. They are exceedingly simple.” Archibald lifted his chin while he watched her.

“Good.” The woman placed the item on the stone table and turned to face him with her arms crossed. “Then let us begin!”

Archibald smiled eagerly at her before closing his eyes and raising his arms toward the circle. “Fill, fill, fill, fill, fill! Repeat five times. But when each is filled, destroy it!” The magus’ voice echoed in the suddenly cramped feeling room.

Harry felt something like pressure building up around him. _Fill what_ , he wondered. _And why five times, and why does it have to be destroyed after? What sort of summoning is this?_

“Heed my words! My will creates your body, my offering gives you mana, and your sword creates my destiny!” Archibald continued, and light began glowing from the lines of blood on the floor. Harry noticed suddenly, there was a dark mark on the back of Archibald’s hand, stretched out over the circle, but with the sudden change in light he couldn't make it out. “My reason shall be your law, as my partner shall be your anchor! If you heed the Grail’s call and obey my will and reason, then answer me!”

The light became blinding and Harry could feel heat building in the center of the circle, and a wind began dancing around the room. _Will, mana, and sword? And the Grail again, what would answer such a call?_

“I hereby swear that I shall be all the good in the world,” Archibald had to speak louder to be heard over what was fast turning into a gale. Harry hoped it didn’t turn into a hurricane. “I shall defeat all evil in the world.”

 _Wait. I shall be all the good in the world?_ Harry thought in surprise. _I shall defeat all evil in the world? No way would a demon answer words like that._ He was so distracted by the wind and pressure and the strangely gentle words of the ritual, that he didn’t notice the spike of heat from his hand matching the rising heat in the circle.

“Come forth from the circle of binding, Guardian of the Scales!” Archibald shouted the last words, and light exploded from the circle, blinding all three people watching from outside its lines. Smoke billowed out from the center, whirling as the wind finally died down, and Archibald and the woman began to laugh happily.

Harry blinked as his vision cleared. There was a human figure in the circle, a tall man who was staring right at him.

“I ask of thee, art thou my master?” the man asked, voice smooth and even. Harry flinched back.

“Indeed I am, Servant!” Archibald said behind him, still pleased but with an edge of annoyance. “Face your Master properly and give me your name.”

The man glanced over his shoulder with a smirk before looking back at Harry. “Sorry, but I am already facing my master.”

The room fell silent. Archibald sputtered and looked to the woman across the circle. The woman looked between him and the man they’d summoned, then glanced to the side where Harry was standing.

“What...are you looking at?” she asked.

Harry glanced at her worriedly. He was still invisible, so what, could the man in the circle see him because he _was_ some kind of demon? Or was it because they were connected? _Why?_ Harry hadn’t done anything during the ritual but watch!

“I’ll ask again,” the man grinned charmingly at Harry, “are you my new lord?”

Harry looked nervously at the woman, now staring at the spot he was standing in, and Archibald across the room beginning to turn red. He shook his head quickly and backed up. He needed to get out of here and fast.

The man in the circle frowned and stepped forward.

“But, you bear the Command Seals on your hand, and I can feel the mana flowing from you that binds me here,” the man said slowly.

“Now just a moment!” Archibald had finally found his voice. “I summoned you! It is _my_ will and mana that bind you to this realm!”

“Actually it’s my mana,” the woman said, crossing her arms and still staring at the spot Harry had been standing before he moved. “But you raise a valid point. We should be the only two here, and you should be the only Master bearing Seals who can summon a Servant.”

 _“Who,”_ Archibald snarled low in his throat. “Who dares to steal my Servant from me?”

Harry crept as quietly as he could around the edge of the room. This was definitely not turning out as well as he hoped. Even worse, the man in the circle was following him, a confused frown still marring his face. The woman and Archibald quickly caught on to Harry’s new location because of that.

“ **Fervor, mei sanguis** ,” Archibald hissed out. “ **Automatoportum quaerere**.”

Harry’s eyes widened as something silver slithered out of Archibald’s breast pocket and began expanding. Soon it grew into a large, bulbous, mirrored lump before thin, twisting spikes shot out of it and began stretching around the room, twitching along the ceiling, brushing up the walls, and slithering across the floor. Several of these silver strings surrounded him and vibrated like they’d been plucked.

Archibald grinned. “ **Scalp**!”

Harry didn’t even have time to react before three things happened simultaneously. The strings whipped up at him from every direction. The woman shouted at Archibald in an annoyed tone. The man from the circle leapt forward and swung a long stick with negligible ease, cutting the silver strings into pieces.

“Honestly, Archibald!” The woman was saying. “Don’t you even want to find out who this master is? What if it’s the same one who stole your first catalyst!”

Harry took a shaky breath and looked up at the man standing before him. It wasn’t a stick he was carrying, but a long spear. The man regarded him blankly before giving a small smile. He turned to face Archibald and his lump of mirror bright silver.

“My, my! It would seem you attacked my master just now,” the man said pleasantly. Then his eyes narrowed and he gave a wolfish smirk. “But what’s this? You don’t seem to have a servant for the game yet.”

Archibald sputtered and glared. The woman stopped scolding him to turn and glare at the man.

“Oh? But _you_ are our Servant,” she said. “Or you will be once we deal with this thief.”

“I’m afraid it’s not possible to steal my loyalty,” the man gave a laugh. “Don’t be sore that you failed to call me properly where my master succeeded.”

“But I didn’t call you at all!” Harry couldn’t help but say. Immediately, he felt the Cloak’s invisibility fall off him. He’d given himself away and now the mages as well as the summoned man could see him.

“YOU!” Archibald was as red in the face as a tomato. He looked like he was trying to choke out words but couldn’t get his throat to cooperate. He could manage, however, to direct his silver ball to begin attacking again.

The man from the circle moved in front of Harry and used his spear again to defend him. His movements and the silver whips were so fast Harry couldn’t follow them clearly. There was no way to reach the door now, and the two mages knew it.

“It would seem you didn’t think this through, did you?” the woman asked mockingly. Harry frowned at her and tried to concentrate on the fight blocking his escape.

“Just as I thought,” Archibald sneered. “Your pathetic ilk have no place in our world when you strive for power beyond your status. You will regret trying to steal from me.”

“Oh believe me, I regretted this an hour after following you home,” Harry muttered to himself. The spearman was doing a good job fighting off the silver threads no matter how they tried to attack, so Harry didn’t feel too threatened. The real problem now was simply getting out of this place and escaping far, far away.

The spearman slashed the great silver blob in pieces, buying a few moments of relief. He landed beside Harry and glanced at him laughing. “One wonders then why you stayed to summon me.”

Harry glared sourly at him. “I didn’t summon you,” he said, and he pointed at Archibald. “ _He_ did. I was just watching.”

“Oh?” The spearman tilted his head. “And yet it was not his voice that called out to me, it was your's, and not his mana that tethered my soul, but your's.”

“That’s ridiculous! I never said anything, and I sure as hell wasn’t using magic!” Harry frowned at the bloody circle, at Archibald, at the woman, at the strange man beside him. “I really was just standing here. I didn’t do anything!”

“Yet if you bear Command Seals,” the woman said as she stalked around the circle to stand by Archibald, “then you surely must have known any interference in a summoning could give you an advantage in the war. This was clearly planned.”

“What command seals? What war?” Harry shouted out, frustrated. “I don’t know what you’re talking about! That’s why I was following _him_ around,” Harry pointed at Archibald, who sneered back, “I wanted to find out what was going on!”

“These marks,” Archibald said crossly, raising his left hand to show the red mark Harry hadn’t been able to see clearly before. “They are a sign of being chosen by the Grail as a Master, to compete in the Holy Grail War of Fuyuki. A sign that a magus has achieved enough power to be recognized by the Root itself, and one which _you_ dishonor with your scheming treachery!”

Harry blinked at the man’s hand, then looked down at his own. The mark of the Hallows was drawn in the same color as Archibald’s more ornate mark.

“So, these marks...they don’t really mean anything special?” he asked slowly, rubbing a thumb across the back of his hand. To think he’d been so worried about what the mark could mean, but it didn’t have anything to do with being the Master of Death?

“In _your_ case, the Grail was likely singling you out as a sacrifice to fall against more powerful Masters,” Archibald said snidely. “Only seven Masters are chosen, and only one is meant to succeed. So naturally, there will be a few weaklings selected simply to round out the numbers. You are little more than a lamb led to the slaughter in this battle!”

Harry looked up to find Archibald pulling something out of a pocket. The woman had backed up behind him and was turning to walk out the door of the room.

“And now it would seem you are already fulfilling the Grail’s chosen task for you!” Archibald threw a packet of paper toward him with a flourish. “ **Urene in aere**!” The paper exploded, spewing noxious smoke into the room while the mage turned and walked out.

Harry flinched back and his lungs started burning. The spearman turned to him with a cry and tried to cover him. Harry coughed and found no breath to refill his lungs and began to gasp desperately while the room spun and his eyes filled with tears. He thought the spearman might have picked him up, he felt like he was spinning or falling, and wanted to throw up. There was too much noise, beating against Harry’s head and his vision was blurred into vague shapes and dark colors. The last thing he felt was cool wind and a sense of weightlessness before he completely blacked out.


	2. Master and Servant

                                                                       

**Master and Servant**

 

Harry woke with a sputtering gasp that quickly devolved into harsh coughs. A warm hand on his back offered some small comfort while he tried to relearn how to breathe. After what felt like ages his lungs finally began to cooperate and he was able to inhale without gasping. A plastic cup was held in front of him, and Harry gratefully took a long sip of lukewarm water.

 

“My apologies for not getting you out sooner,” a voice said over Harry’s head. He looked up and found the man from the summon circle smiling down at him. “Quite an unusual beginning for a Grail War, wouldn’t you agree?”

 

Harry stared at him uncertainly. “I’m not entirely sure what would be usual for a, a Grail war..?”

 

The man grinned. “I gathered that actually.” Then his face turned serious and he stepped back from Harry and kneeled. “I understand you don’t truly know what you’ve become involved in, but the fact remains that you are the one whose Command Seals are binding me to this realm.”

 

Harry frowned uncertainly and clutched the cup in his lap, glancing down at the marks on his hand before looking back up at the strange man.

 

“Therefore,” the man continued solemnly, “you _are_ the master who has summoned me, never mind who conducted the actual ritual. In the end, it is the Grail itself which summons the Servants, the Master only needs to attach their mana to anchor their Servants to the world. So, I’ll ask you once more,” the man paused and took a deep breath before pinning Harry in place with a searching look.

 

“Art thou my Master?”

 

Harry fidgeted but couldn’t quite manage to look away. “I don’t know what’s going on, are you sure you wouldn't rather go back to Archibald? He really was the one trying to summon you.”

 

The man’s face pinched and he leaned forward desperately. “Do you doubt my loyalty, simply because you were not the one who drew the circle? I swear that I will serve you faithfully, whatever your wish!”

 

“Why though?” Harry asked with a frown. “I don’t have anything to do with whatever this war is, it was a mistake that I was even there! I thought something was going on that wasn't, I misunderstood--”

 

“Regardless!” The man interrupted, with an almost wild look in his eyes. “I would swear myself to you, for the Grail or for whatever cause you choose. I would serve you more faithfully than any knight has served their lord!”

 

Harry blinked in shock and leaned back. “I don’t--”

 

“Please! My Lord!” The man lowered his head in a bow over his knee. Harry stared at him worriedly. He couldn't understand why the man was so upset, unless….

 

“Do you get sent back to wherever you came from if you don’t have a master?” Harry asked hesitantly.

 

“Yes,” the man said, head still resolutely bowed down. “The Heroic Spirits summoned by the Grail must be anchored by a Master in order to maintain a physical form. Without that, we are sent back to the Throne of Heroes to await another chance at returning to this world.”

 

“Throne of Heroes?” Harry repeated blankly. “Heroic spirits? What...are you exactly?”

 

“I am Diarmuid Ua Duibhne,” the man finally looked up, his eyes like steel, but his lips twitching as if he wanted to frown. “Loyal Knight of the Fianna. I was summoned to be your Servant in the vessel of Lancer, and fight against other summoned Heroic Spirits in the War for the Holy Grail.”

 

Harry looked from the man, Diarmuid, to his hand in confusion. “How… _why_ on earth was I chosen to be part of this?” he asked incredulously.

 

“That I don’t know,” Diarmuid said regretfully. “It is the Grail that chooses the participants of the war. It is omnipotent, so it must have seen some desire in you that would lead you on this path.”

 

“A path to a war?” Harry said angrily. Bollocks to that.

 

Diarmuid shook his head. “A path to a wish,” he said. “Any wish you have, the Grail could grant you, if it is won.”

 

Harry frowned and looked down at the Hallows mark. That sounded like a load of hippogriff dung. A war for a wish. As if he had one that was even possible.

 

“What about the marks?” he asked, raising his right hand to show the red lines on the back.

 

“The Command Seals,” Diarmuid answered dutifully. “A sign of the Grail’s acknowledgement, as well as the connection between a Master and their Servant. Each mark of the Seal can act as a binding, allowing a Master to make three irrevocable orders the Servant must follow.”

 

Harry frowned. “That’s creepy,” he muttered. Diarmuid stayed silent while Harry thought.

 

“Archibald had a different mark from mine,” Harry finally said, as casually as he could. “Is there any meaning to the shapes of the seals?”

 

“As far as I know, the Seals take a form representing the nature of the Master who bears them.”

 

Harry stared at the man, spirit, hero, or whatever before him, then he burst out laughing. Merlin! A mark in the shape of the bearer’s nature? He really had misunderstood everything, hadn’t he?

 

Diarmuid looked at him worriedly, but lowered his head into another bow when Harry calmed down enough to look at him again.

 

“So, why were you chosen then?” he asked, still half laughing at his own foolishness.

 

“I--,” Diarmuid glanced up in confusion. “The Grail chose me, and I suppose that Master who performed the ritual must have used some catalyst to call me specifically.”

 

“Catalyst?” Harry blinked. That is what Archibald had called the metal shard he’d received, hadn’t he? “That was the artifact I delivered to him, the one that…”

 

“The one that?” Diarmuid repeated curiously.

 

Harry set the cup on the bench next to him and rubbed the mark on his hand. “When I first picked it up, that’s when this appeared.”

 

Diarmuid blinked, looking at Harry’s hand and the seal upon it, then he smiled widely. “But then, that must mean the Grail choose you specifically to be my Master!”

 

Harry frowned, but couldn't bring himself to say anything when the man had just lost that distressed look in his eyes. He huffed instead and Diarmuid grinned before lowering his head again.

 

“Then, may I receive an answer now, my lord?” he asked, voice ringing out more confidently than before. “Art thou my long awaited master?”

 

Harry rolled his eyes. “I suppose I am, though I still think this is a mistake.”

 

“Mistake or no, I pledge myself to thee,” Diarmuid said clearly. “I shall serve you loyally and obey your orders until you have no need of me.” He looked up, face full of satisfaction and an almost teasing smirk at the edge of his lips. “Might I ask for my lord’s name?”

 

“Oh! Sorry,” Harry scratched the back of his neck. “I’m Harry. Harry Potter.”

 

“It is an honor to serve you Lord Potter.”

 

Harry made a face. “Please don’t call me that. Just Harry is fine.”

 

Diarmuid laughed. “As you wish, my lord Harry!”

 

Harry dearly wanted to groan, but he had the feeling it would only make the strange man laugh more. “Anyway, what do you want from this Grail?” he asked.

 

Diarmuid tilted his head, brow furrowed quizzically. “What do you mean, my lord?”

 

Harry pursed his lips. That ‘my lord’ thing was getting old fast. “I mean, the Grail’s picking people who want something you said. And yeah, Archibald was using something that called you, but you still want something, right? What do you get out of fighting in this war?”

 

Diarmuid smiled softly. “My wish has already been granted, simply from the opportunity to be here.”

 

“What? Just being summoned to the world was your wish?”

 

“Being able to serve a lord to the best of my ability,” Diarmuid said proudly. “I can prove my loyalty is unmatched, finally.”

 

There was a frightful tinge of obsession in the man’s eyes that Harry was wary of, but it was way too late for him to run away now.

 

“Er, so… You mentioned Fianna?” Harry said slowly. “Isn’t that Irish, uh, some sort of clan from myth?”

 

“Not a clan.” Diarmuid shook his head gently. “A group of, hmm, knights you might call us, pledged to a lord. Our tales were told in the Fiannaíocht, which is somewhat history and somewhat myth,” he quipped with a grin. “As a Heroic Spirit, I am one who lived in the distant past, and whose history passed into legend.”

 

“Alright,” Harry said slowly, a terrible thought growing in his head. “So, you mean to say, Heroic Spirits are...dead people? Brought back to life?”

 

“Not quite, my lord,” Diarmuid said thoughtfully. “We are the dead returned, but not to life, and we are not quite as we were when we lived.” He pursed his lips as if thinking, then looked up at Harry. “We have physical forms only due to the mana provided by the Grail and our Masters, so we are more a type of familiar. Not ghosts, and not revived humans, we are more… magical in nature I suppose.”

 

“Oh.” _That didn’t make sense at all._ Harry’s face must have shown his continued confusion, because Diarmuid sighed and shook his head.

 

“I am afraid I know not how to explain it any better than that.”

 

Harry frowned. “So you haven’t been summoned for a Grail War before?”

 

“Not to my knowledge.” Diarmuid shrugged as if to say it wouldn’t matter if he had been.

 

“But, then...why do you know so much about it?”

 

“The Grail gave me the knowledge when I was summoned,” Diarmuid answered easily. “Knowledge of how I was summoned, and why, as well as enough history of the world to understand the era.”

 

Harry blinked. “What, like, cars and stuff?”

 

“Yes.” Diarmuid grinned. “This era is quite an exciting one to be born in.”

 

“I guess.” Harry regarded the man--spirit?-- still kneeling before him and sighed. “You don’t have to stay on the ground you know.” He gestured at the bench beside him and scooted over a bit. Diarmuid smiled and shook his head.

 

“Oh, c’mon!” Harry rolled his eyes. “Just sit. It’s really awkward having you on the ground like that!”

 

Diarmuid looked shocked for a moment, then laughed and stood up gracefully. “As my lord commands me.”

 

“That’s really awkward too,” Harry muttered. Diarmuid didn’t seem to hear him. Harry shook his head while the spirit sat gingerly down, turned toward him as if waiting for some signal to jump up or kneel down again. It was unnerving to have that much attention focused on him.

 

“Well, could you tell me about this Grail War?” Harry asked, shifting over more and glancing at the man. “Like...what is the point?”

 

“The point?” Diarmuid repeated in confusion. “Why...to have a wish granted. Do… Does my lord have no wish?”

 

“Not really,” Harry said with a shrug. “I’m not much interested in trouble either. Although I might not have much choice about that…” He shook his head and turned to the spirit. “That’s why I asked what you wanted. From what it sounds like, you’re the one who’d actually be doing all the work. Are you certain there isn’t anything you want?”

 

Diarmuid stared at him, then slowly started to laugh. “Oh, I assure you, my lord, my wish has almost certainly been granted already!” He clutched his stomach and laughed loudly while Harry watched him in surprise. “If there were anything else I wanted, it might be the chance to engage in honorable battle with worthy foes,” he sat straighter and looked at Harry with a pleased, cat-that-ate-the-canary-grin, “for my lord’s pleasure, of course.”

 

“So,” Harry said slowly, “you’d want to take part in this war...just so you could fight other resurrected Heroic Spirits?”

 

“It would be a chance unlike any other!” Diarmuid said gleefully. “Of course, whatever my lord wills, whether to go after the Grail or not, I will dedicated myself to wholeheartedly.”

 

Harry stared at him incredulously, then looked away. He’d never seen anyone with such dedication in their eyes without any idea what they were dedicating themselves to. It wasn’t as if he had any plans! His only desire for this world was to live quietly and unimportant, and maybe figure out how the weird magic here worked, and he’d just ruined any chance he had at that!

 

Right...he probably couldn’t go back to Clock Tower after what happened.

 

“I guess… that’s as good an idea as any,” he said softly, staring up at the sky. He just noticed that it was close to dawn and the stars were disappearing as a golden tint bled through the indigo night.

 

“Idea, my lord?” Diarmuid repeated with a curious tilt of his head. “Do you mean to take part in the Grail War?”

 

Harry nodded. “Yeah. I mean, I don’t particularly care about the Grail or a wish, but if you want to fight Heroic Spirits,” Harry looked over at the spirit, “then that’s the only way to do it, right?”

 

Diarmuid’s eyes widened slightly as he stared back at Harry, then he laughed eagerly and jumped up from the bench with his arms raised to the lightening sky. He turned to face Harry almost as soon as he got up and fell to his knee, head bowed low.

 

“I vow to you, I shall show you the greatest heroics of an honorable Knight!” he declared. “You shall rejoice at witnessing new legendary battles in this Age of Man!”

 

“Uh… right.” Harry took a deep breath. “Alright then.” He looked around, they seemed to be in a park, Hyde Park? “Then, I guess, do you have any idea where Fu-yu-ki is?”

 

Diarmuid looked up from his bow. “Fuyuki?”

 

“Yeah… Archibald called this the ‘Holy Grail War of Fu-yuki’ so,” he shrugged, “I would guess that’s where we’re supposed to battle, right?”

 

Diarmuid’s brow creased. “Yes… I believe that is, I--” his eyes widened. “Now that I think of it, the Grail gave me knowledge of a city called Fuyuki. It is in a country called Japan.”

 

“Japan?” Harry said incredulously. He clapped a hand over his face, knocking his glasses out of the way. “Of course. It couldn’t be down the street or anything. It would _have_ to be on the other side of the world,” he muttered under his breath.

 

“My lord?” Diarmuid looked up at him, still kneeling. Harry sighed. It was definitely old now.

 

“Alright then. Quit kneeling and _please_ don’t call me ‘lord’-- it’s just Harry,” he waved at the man, his Heroic Spirit. “First step then is going home and packing some clothes and such. Then, we’re gonna have to buy plane tickets to Japan.” He made a face. “Two tickets is gonna be a problem…” He knew he didn’t have enough money, but after messing with Lord Archibald, he didn’t think using magic to get a ticket was a good idea.

 

“If you need,” Diarmuid spoke up. “I could revert to spirit form while we travel. You would not need to purchase a ticket for me in that case.”

 

“You can do that?” Harry turned to him in surprise. Diarmuid nodded with a smirk, then dissolved into the air and vanished. “Bloody--!”

 

_“Be at ease, my lord.”_

 

Harry jerked when Diarmuid’s voice, clear as a bell, sounded from inside his head.

 

_“I am only in spirit form, and we can still speak thru the bond between us.”_

 

Harry frowned and looked around before closing his eyes. _“Like...this..?”_

 

_“Just so, my lord!”_

 

A chuckle reverberated between Harry’s ears, making his head itch from the inside. _“Okay… Right. Well, this is weird, but...I think it’ll work. And I said not to call me that!”_

 

_“My apologies my lo--uh, Harry.”_ Diarmuid’s voice still held an edge of laughter, even if there was just a trace of hesitation. _Then, shall we be off?”_

 

_“Yeah. We’ll just stop at my place and then… the airport.”_ Harry felt nauseous just thinking about it. He _really_ hated airplanes.

 

 

 


	3. Irregular Mage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is going a bit slower than I planned it to. Oops! Part of that is I'm getting distracted by another fandom (that's almost always my problem) and part of it is how unexpected some of the responses to the story have been. XD It's been a long time since I wrote an anime crossover, and those tend to have a lot of superpower tropes, but dear god, I didn't know how much they were expected! It's kind of cracking me up honestly.
> 
> So, to everyone worried about Harry being an under-powered little wimp--don't. He'll be fine. But to everyone worrying about Harry being gay--DO. He's is going to be the gayest little wizard ever. :D 
> 
> To everyone else, thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy my slow-ass updates!

                                                       

                                                                       

**Irregular Mage**

 

“ _Merlin_ , I hate flying in tin cans,” Harry muttered to himself. He blearily looked in the tiny mirror above the tiny sink, then almost fell over as the plane shook in the air. He lunged toward the metal bowl to the side and retched. If the turbulence and the nausea weren’t enough, his stalker spirit had started a new habit...

 

_“It is almost over, my Master.”_

 

...that was only slightly less annoying than hearing “my lord” constantly.

 

_“I checked in the cockpit.”_ Diarmuid’s voice was soft so as not to rattle Harry’s head any more than the turbulence already had. _“They were contacting the ground terminal for landing clearance.”_

 

_“Thank Heaven for that.”_

 

The walls and floor jumped, sending Harry’s stomach reeling and making him gag, and an announcement to buckle seatbelts came over the speakers outside the toilet. Harry was shuddering and wetting a paper towel to lay against his forehead when a rapid knock sounded at the door.

 

“Excuse me?” A polite voice called to him. “Everyone must return to their seats and buckle up. We’ll be landing soon, please hurry!”

 

Harry groaned and closed his eyes. He _hated_ planes so much.

 

“If you’re ill, I’m afraid you’ll need to use the bag provided at your seat sir,” the voice said loudly, though not unkindly.

 

“Could I have another bag?” Harry asked weakly. He tore out a few more towels and wet them as well before coming out.

 

“Of course sir,” the hostess greeted him, her nose wrinkling only a little as she smiled. “Please take your seat and I’ll bring more for you right away.”

 

Harry nodded weakly and tottered off down the aisle to his seat. His row companions did not look pleased at his return, but Harry didn’t blame them. The hostess from earlier brought him another waxed paper bag as he sat down before hurrying away, reminding everyone to buckle their seatbelts.

 

_“We’re very close, my Master. Just hold out a little longer.”_

 

Harry moaned morosely and buckled up before placing the wet towels on his face. Twelve hours of rocking and nausea and the constant worry of dropping out of the sky like a rock. He really hoped Diarmuid appreciated what Harry was going through for the sake of his “honorable battles” or whatever. Especially since the spirit didn’t have to deal with the motion sickness!

 

The spirit had offered the occasional comforting words to Harry during his worst bouts of vomiting, but really, Diarmuid had seemed rather excited to be flying. Harry had felt as the spirit roamed about the plane, investigating passengers and the plane itself with an air of wonderment. If Harry hadn’t been so sick, he might have enjoyed his playful attitude.

 

Harry heard the speakers come on again as the captain announced their descent, then the plane began rocking and pitching so horribly, he opened the bag he’d been given and gagged into it. He’d long since emptied his stomach, but the urge to vomit never left and he still managed to spit up bile every now and again.

  
With his face hidden in the bag as he retched, he focused on Diarmuid’s steady voice, softly telling him of the plane’s progress as it circled through the air and, finally, landed. He couldn’t wait to get off this thing.

   

 

Harry managed to get off the plane intact, but while most passengers hurried on to customs, he veered off to a restroom to wash his face and sit on the cool tiles until his head cleared. He could feel Diarmuid hovering somewhere over him, flickering with concern.

 

_“Has the air-sickness passed yet?”_

 

_“Yeah. I just need a minute.”_ Harry leaned his head against the wall behind him, his knapsack propped next to him, and just breathed slowly. The restroom was immaculately clean and echoingly empty. It seemed his was the only plane at the terminal for the moment, so this bathroom wasn’t in much demand. He closed his eyes gratefully and relaxed.

 

_“Once we leave this airport, we will head to Fuyuki?”_

 

_“Well, first we’ll need to work out some money. I don’t have much left after buying that ticket.”_ He only had around 50 pounds left, barely anything, and much less than he was comfortable with, but he’d used most of his meager savings buying the first available ticket to Tokyo. He wished he hadn’t needed to do so on credit, because cash would have made everything so much easier, but using several hundred pounds at once would have drawn too much attention. _“After that’s sorted...well, er, where exactly is Fuyuki?”_

 

Diarmuid was silent for a moment. _“In Japan.”_

 

Harry opened his eyes. _“Wait. You mean, you don’t know?”_

 

_“I apologize, my Master,”_ Diarmuid sounded upset. _“I should have realized I was missing information and found out before--”_

 

_“Wait, wait, wait!”_ Harry closed his eyes and stood up with a wince. _“You got everything you know from the Grail, right?”_

 

_“Yes, my Master.”_

 

_“Then it’s that damn thing’s fault we have no idea where to go,”_ Harry thought with a shrug. He turned to the counter and ran cool water over his hands to splash his face. _“At least we’re in the right country. We’ll just have to look at some maps, or...actually, we’re in an airport. We could find a travel agent and ask.”_

 

_“Of course, my Master.”_ Diarmuid seemed to mentally fidget for a moment while Harry dried off and walked out. _“I still apologize for my error.”_

 

_“Don’t apologize for things you can’t control.”_ Harry grabbed his bag and settled it on his shoulders. _“You’ll never stop otherwise.”_

 

There was silence while Harry walked down the long halls, following signs in Japanese, English, and several other languages, until he caught up with the crowd from his plane still waiting in line through customs. Then, as Harry joined them and quietly waited his turn to present a charmed booklet as his passport, a soft chuckle brushed through his mind.

 

_“Sage advice, my Master. I shall take it to heart.”_

  
_“Er, sure.”_ Harry scratched his head as he moved in line. Surely it wasn’t that special a thing to say, it was only common sense. _“And, it really is okay to use my name you know?”_

 

Harry counted out what little he’d been able to exchange. He sighed and tucked it away. Chatting up a very friendly bi-lingual travel agent had gone much more happily, but he knew before he entered the exchange counter that this would happen.

 

_“Is it not enough?”_

 

Harry glanced up at the ceiling as though he could see Diarmuid above him. _“Not nearly. The exchange rate was pretty poor, and I didn’t have much to start with.”_

 

_“If need be, I will find a way to earn you money, my Master!”_

 

Harry laughed. _“Don’t worry, I have a plan. It just would have been easier if I had more to start with.”_

 

_“A plan?”_ Diarmuid sounded curious. Harry grinned at empty air and started walking for the down escalators.

 

_“Yep. First step, charm a rich business type into buying an extra train ticket for us.”_ Harry hoped he could find a good target. So early in the morning he had no idea if the right sort of person would be around, and he didn’t want to take advantage of someone who couldn’t afford it.

 

_“Then we head to Fuyuki?”_ Lancer asked.

 

_“No, then we get some money in Tokyo, and then we head to Fuyuki.”_

 

_“Is it wise to leave scouting the battlegrounds so late?”_

 

_“We don’t have to win this war, remember?”_ Harry frowned. He wasn’t looking forward to reaching Fuyuki nearly as much as Diarmuid was. The spirit was very eager to prove his skills to Harry. _“And anyway, I’d like to keep my money raising spot as far away from my money spending spot as possible. We kind of lucked out that Fuyuki is at the other end of the country from Tokyo.”_

 

Somehow, it sounded as though Diarmuid was frowning.

 

_“Why is that? Is this something dangerous?”_

 

Harry snorted and stepped off the escalator then wandered over to a corner to watch people lining up at a ticket machine before entering the Narita train station. He studied the station map on the wall beside him to appear distracted.

 

_“Only if I get caught. I’m going to duplicate every paper bill I can get.”_

 

There was silence, and Harry caught sight of a very well dressed older man with leather bags hurrying to the end of the ticket line. Perfect. He strode over and managed to snag the spot behind him, then focused on the man and pointed at him from his coat pocket. _Imperio!_

 

The man barely twitched as Harry’s spell settled onto him. They both continued waiting in line as if nothing had happened. When it was the man’s turn to buy a ticket, Harry let him make his own purchase first, then directed him to buy a second ticket to a different stop he’d picked out from the map to the side. Once done, Harry had the man leave the second ticket in the machine and walk away. Harry stepped up, pretended to purchase the ticket he pulled out of the machine and headed off to a different end of the station.

 

He could feel Diarmuid’s gaze on him throughout the whole event, and wondered what the Heroic Spirit thought of it. But when he spoke, the spirit made no mention of Harry’s actions to get a train ticket into Tokyo.

 

_“You are counterfeiting.”_

 

_“Basically.”_ Harry shrugged as he leaned against a metal post to wait for the train. _“The duplicates I’ll make will be perfect replicas. No one would be able to tell the difference between the copy and the original. But, money now has unique serial numbers. If two bills show up with the same number, obviously everyone will think one is a counterfeit, even if they can’t tell which.”_

 

_“I see."_ Diarmuid seemed to turn Harry’s answers over in his head. _“Why...did you not do this with your money in Britain? If I may ask, my Master.”_

 

_“You can ask whatever you like.”_ Harry tried not to wince and gave a shrug. _“It’s because I didn’t want to draw too much attention after revealing myself as a magic user to Archibald. I didn't have time to take money out of my account, duplicate it, and put it back. And if I’d bought the plane ticket at the airport with hundreds of pounds by hand, it would have stuck in people’s memories.”_

 

_“So, you can only duplicate something physical? Not the numbers floating in the machines and cards everyone is using?”_

 

_“Yep. Magic doesn’t mix well with electronics. If I just wanted to break the system, that’d be easy, but changing the information stored is pretty much impossible.”_

 

A recorded bell and voice came out of the overhead speakers. Harry couldn’t remember enough Japanese to know exactly what it said, but knew it was announcing an incoming train. He just had to match up the name on his ticket to the announcement when the train’s doors opened, and he’d be good to go.

 

_“Also, I do need the thing I duplicate to be physical, but that has some limits as well. Especially with money.”_

 

Harry straightened up and resettled his bag as the train pulled in. Once it stopped and the doors opened, another recorded message announced the train and destinations, and Harry boarded.

 

_“I’m not certain I understand.”_ Diarmuid’s voice was blandly quizzical. Harry wondered if the spirit actually cared how his magic worked, or if he was just feigning interest for ‘his lord’s’ sake.

 

_“Money’s kind of an abstract thing. It’s got a physical form as cash, but it’s more of an idea than anything.”_ Harry found a seat by a window and sat down. Diarmuid hovered near him. _“If I wanted to make a copy of something like a chair, I’d just make it and then walk away. The fake chair would last for as long as I lived, with no need for my attention or anything. Because a chair is a real, physical thing. Everyone knows what it is, and what it does to the point that even a chair would know. When I make a copy of a chair, that sense of realness gets copied too.”_

 

_“I see…”_

 

Harry really wondered if he did.

 

_“Money’s less real, because people always place a different value on it. Not just in different countries where everyone is trying to figure out how their currency compares to a different one, but even in the same country, with the same currency, different people put their own personal values on it.”_ Harry sighed as the train shuddered into motion. He leaned back and shifted so he could watch out the window. Trains were so much better than planes.

 

_“The more something depends on people to make it real, the harder it is to copy perfectly. It’s just not real enough on its own, that all the truly real stuff in the world around it start to move through it. So, it wears out. A duplicate chair would stay a chair forever, but a duplicated piece of money will start to fade and disappear.”_

 

_“But, you’re going to make this vanishing money,”_ Diarmuid said worriedly. He seemed to be paying more sincere attention at least. _“Won’t you get caught?”_

 

_“Heh, if I tried to copy coins, then yeah. But paper money- paper is so light, so barely there, that people don’t notice it even when they carry it. It takes longer to fade than coins because it’s close to the same amount of realness the original has, and once it starts vanishing, it might not be noticed.”_

 

_“Even if it is a large amount?”_ Diarmuid still sounded concerned.

 

_“If it vanishes in a bank, all put away and already counted with the hundreds of thousands of other bills, then it’s just pocket change,”_ Harry thought with a soft chuckle. _“I just have to be sure that wherever I spend the duplicates, they have a higher chance of going to different banks, or large businesses, or machines. The more people and money moving around, the less a few vanishing bills among hundreds will be missed.”_

 

_“Ah, people will assume someone miscounted, or that the bills were misplaced.”_

 

_“Yep, and no one will look at me for the missing money.”_ Harry looked away from the scenery flashing past the window and glanced up with a smile. _“So, are you less worried now?”_

 

_“I did not mean to imply I doubted your abilities, my Master.”_ Diarmuid was quick to reply and Harry got the distinct sense that he was somehow kneeling- without a body.

 

_“I didn’t think you did,”_ he thought with a frown. _“It’s perfectly normal to ask questions, and I’m sure you’ve never seen anyone use magic like me before.”_

 

Diarmuid didn't answer for a moment, and Harry switched his gaze back to the window, wondering if he’d upset the spirit somehow.

 

_“I… I have not seen any Mage use magic as you do, and the magic knowledge the Grail granted me is mostly on the nature of mana transfer and the ritual used to summon me.”_

 

_“Well then, you can ask whatever questions you like and I’ll answer the best I can.”_ Harry shifted awkwardly. _“Although, you should know, my way of doing things is pretty unique, so there’s a lot about other people’s magic that I may not know.”_

 

_“Mages tend toward unique spell classifications.”_ Diarmuid said neutrally. _“I- thank you.”_

 

_“For what?”_ Harry blinked.

 

_“For trusting me. I swear, I will not betray your craft secrets.”_ Harry could feel Diarmuid doing that kneeling-without-a-body thing again.

 

_“It’s not that big a deal.”_ Harry hunkered down sideways on his seat. _“We’re supposed to be teammates, right? It doesn't make sense not to cooperate.”_

 

Diarmuid chuckled. _“As your sworn knight, I am not owed any explanations of your plans. I need only follow your orders.”_

 

“That doesn’t make sense either,” Harry muttered, only mostly to himself.

  
The spirit’s laughter tickled Harry’s head. He huffed and shrugged against the seat. He was finally beginning to wind down after twelve hours being sick on the flight here, and a whole day before that worrying about the Hallows mark, and following Archibald, and then finding out about Diarmuid and the Grail and everything. He was exhausted, and lulled by the train’s rumbling and the soft cushions, Harry finally slipped into sleep.

_There was warmth and flickering light from a dying fire. Quiet voices murmured from the shadows, the scent of charred fat and spilled beer was so heavy it made the air hazy. Men and women were all around the large round room, some sitting at tables and drinking as they spoke and laughed lowly, others wrapped in blankets propped against walls or spread out on the floor by a great fireplace at the center._

 

_A group close to the door were softly singing and nudging each other, clearly drunk and still going. One of them had a familiar face, smiling happily as the man tried to remember lines to a song that everyone was humming in a different tune…._

 

Harry woke with a gasp. Diarmuid was calling him.

 

_“We have passed two stops for Tokyo already, I am not sure which one you intended to use.”_

 

_“Oh. Oh!”_ Harry rubbed his eyes and straightened his glasses. That was a weird dream. He could have sworn it was a memory. _“Shinagawa, it’s Shinagawa.”_

 

_“Then you should ready yourself, the announcement already said we were approaching that station.”_

 

_“Right. Thanks for waking me.”_

 

_“Of course my Master.”_

 

_“You can call me by my name, Diarmuid.”_

 

_“....”_

 

Harry sat up, neck cricking, and his stomach growled. He hoped his money making plan didn't take too long. Definitely the first thing he was doing once he had funds, was getting food.

 

The train slowed down and a cheery jingle sounded before a recorded voice announced the Shinagawa station and line transfers. Harry got up and was first out the doors when they opened. He hurried up the escalators and joined the rush of suit-clad business men and women swarming through the shiny station. Soon, he was stretching in the sun on the street outside, the noise and the colors of Tokyo whirling around him as people and cars raced about their business.

 

_“This truly is an interesting age to be born in,”_ Diarmuid said. Harry felt the spirit flitting above him like an invisible snitch, trying to take in the masses and billboards and the skyscrapers all at once.

 

_“Busier than ancient Ireland?”_ Harry asked teasingly.

 

Diarmuid gave a snort. _“By far, and yet, it does not seem strange at all.”_

 

_“Because the Grail already told you about it?”_

 

_“Yes. It filled my memory with so many images, this vast city seems no more than commonplace.”_ The spirit didn't seem terribly pleased about that.

 

_“So is it no fun then?”_

 

_“Fun?”_ Diarmuid laughed. _“Fun will be had when I face a worthy knight in Fuyuki, and fight for my Master’s honor!”_

 

Harry rolled his eyes and looked around. _“Of course.”_

 

The spirit had certainly stopped calling him “lord” but Harry suspected that was _only_ because he had specifically told him to. Simply hinting that Diarmuid could use his name instead of “master” was revealing a surprising stubborn streak. It was sort of fascinating, and Harry wondered which of them would give up first if he continued only hinting.

 

There were plenty of restaurants advertised nearby, and lots of signs for businesses in the tall glass scrapers, but what Harry was looking for would be much more eye-catching than all those respectable places. A garish, eye-searing explosion of color--Ah! Harry grinned and started walking down the street around the crowds lining up for buses.

 

When he finally reached the place he’d been looking for, Diarmuid at last made a comment.

 

_“Do...do you truly need to go into this place, my master?”_ he asked hesitantly.

 

Harry smothered a cackle in his hand, pretending to sneeze. _“Is it too loud? You can wait outside if you like.”_

 

The walls and windows were covered with bright red adverts and gold numbers, and as soon as he walked through the doors, the sound of bells and electronic whistles and whirring mechanics rose up like a wall. Cigarette smoke hung in the air and stung his eyes, and lights flashed and blinked rapidly from lines of machines filling the large room, until everything felt too close and not enough space to breathe.

 

_“No! I...should stay by your side, it’s just…”_ Harry could feel a wave of confusion and vague annoyance coming from the spirit. _“What_ is _this place?”_

 

_“This,”_ Harry thought with amusement as he walked up to a change machine and inserted his few bills to get coins, _“is a pachinko parlor. It’s a...hmm, I guess a gaming hall.”_

 

_“Like a gambling den?”_

 

_“Sort of.”_ Harry took his coins and a small rectangular plastic bucket from a stack beside the machine, and wandered past aisle after aisle of flashing, ringing rows of game machines. It was pretty early in the morning, but there were still a surprising number of people at the parlor already, smoking at machines up and down every aisle and blankly watching their machines spin and shriek. He finally picked an aisle with only a handful of people and sat down. _“Technically speaking, gambling is illegal in Japan.”_

 

_“Then...how will this make you money?”_

 

_“Because it’s gambling.”_ Harry grinned at the frustrated silence Diarmuid probably didn’t mean for him to sense, and started putting coins into a slot. For every coin, a dozen shiny silver balls poured out into the bucket Harry put under the hole below, which he then poured into a catch feed on the machine in front of him. After using all his coins and depositing all the balls, he pulled a knob and the machine whirred to life.

 

_“It’s pretty funny actually.”_ Harry sat back to watch as silver balls rained down from the top of the machine’s glass face, and a brightly lit wheel with flashing bubbles and springs began spinning inside. Music started playing, and exciting dings and drumbeats sounded every now and again. _“Gambling for money is technically illegal, but...gambling, or playing rather, for prizes, is perfectly okay.”_

 

_“What prize would be worth this…”_

 

_“The noise?”_ Harry laughed to himself, keeping careful track of the silver balls. _“The smoke? Or just the constant flashing lights?”_

 

_“...All of it. I cannot think this is good for your health, my Master”_ Diarmuid responded only slightly mulishly. Harry shook his head and focused on the balls behind the glass.

 

_“There’s some small amount of skill involved in timing when you send the balls through,”_ he said as his eyes tracked some of the balls bouncing against metal pins as they rained down. At the bottom, small levers opened and closed like wings, either widening or blocking a hole with lights around it. Most of the balls were missing this hole and bouncing toward other, unlit holes. _“I never got the hang of that. I get a headache. But, there is something I can do.”_

 

The balls Harry was tracking finally clinked toward the bottom, just as the levers were closing. Harry muttered “Aresto!” under his breath, and the levers froze. The balls fell past them, and Harry released the spell. He sat back as the machine beeped and shrieked and a number wheel in the middle started spinning. That Harry left alone, instead opting to track more balls and make sure they made it past the moving levers at the bottom. Music played, the whole machine lit up, and silver balls poured out of the machine into a bucket below.

 

_“So...you are playing to collect the balls,”_ Diarmuid was saying. He seemed to be hovering beside and inside the machine, and occasionally flickered off to other nearby pachinko players. _“But...then, won’t they simply give you money for the balls? That is simply gambling for tokens!”_

 

_“Nah, the thing is, you can only trade in the balls for prizes, not money.”_ Harry started playing more with the balls inside the machine, adding a few Wingardium Leviosa’s to move more balls into the proper hole. The machine was whirring and blinking quite a bit. _“They’re mostly things you can buy anywhere, although there’s some expensive stuff too.”_

 

Diarmuid was getting more frustrated. Harry looked up from the machine and let it finish the last celebration song. He stretched and looked up at the ceiling. _“Do you want to know how Japan gets around its own gambling laws?”_ he asked casually.

 

_“...I would,”_ the spirit’s voice was perfectly even, but Harry still gave the air a sympathetic grin.

 

_“It’s actually very clever, and it’s not something that you can easily figure out just by looking.”_ He glanced toward the front of the parlor, where a counter and shelves were covered in the “prizes” that could be won. Snacks, toiletries, electronics, towels, knick-knacks...honestly the prize counter looked more like an eclectic outlet store. _“There are certain prizes that have very high values when you trade them in, but...they aren’t anything. Just little figures or bits of metal, all wrapped in plastic. But once you trade in your winnings for them, you can take them somewhere else, and have them bought off you.”_

 

_“You...trade your winnings in somewhere else then. So, you aren’t gambling in the building, but…”_

 

_“But everyone here is totally gambling for money,”_ Harry grinned and turned back to the machine. He still had a pile of balls in the insert feed, and he needed to change the bucket down below. _“There’s just...an intermediary step between the game and the payout.”_

 

Diarmuid said nothing more, but Harry could feel much of the annoyance from before turn to amusement. An hour or so later, after he’d filled six more buckets and his stomach was growling non-stop, the spirit eagerly interrupted him.

 

_“My Master, I believe that man at the front is collecting a prize that can be traded in for money. Should I follow him?”_

 

Harry blinked and sat up to glance down the aisle. He couldn’t see whoever the spirit had spotted, but he didn’t doubt the man was there. _“Yeah, it would really help to know exactly where to go instead of having to look for it. Good thinking.”_

 

_“I shall return swiftly!”_ Diarmuid said, and then he was gone. Harry could still feel him, like sensing the warmth of sun on his skin, but moving away and changing direction at odd moments.

 

He yawned and looked down at the floor around him. He had seven buckets filled and one only about a quarter filled. Judging by how many balls he’d got when he paid for them, around 100 balls should be worth ¥1000, or at least close to that. The buckets didn’t quite hold 1000 balls, definitely a couple hundred less than that… so, he probably had between 4000 and 5000 balls. That should be enough for now, at least until Harry had something to eat.

 

_“I have found it!”_ Diarmuid came back with an excited whirl, stirring the smoke in the air like a gentle breeze. _“The place to get your money is very close, but far less noticeable than this place.”_

 

_“It would be.”_ Harry sneezed and reached around the machine to press a button. He started scooping the last balls he hadn’t used into the bucket he pulled up from below. _“Alright, I’d say we’re good for the moment. We have enough to get some food at least.”_

 

_“Wonderful, my Master!”_ Diarmuid cheered. Harry thought the spirit was happier about leaving the parlor than he had any right to be, considering he admitted he couldn’t actually hear the noise or smell the smoke. Apparently he could only sense the “spiritual nature” of the business, and found it unsavory.

 

Hah! Harry had to sit in all that unsavoryness after an agonizingly long flight and with an empty belly.

 

Soon enough, a man in a black suit came down the aisle with a tray. He bowed his head at Harry and asked something. Harry nodded back and smiled, holding the mostly empty bucket up and gestured at the pile of full ones. Luckily, this seemed to be good enough for the man, and he began collecting Harry’s buckets and arranging them on his tray, taking the last one Harry held up before leading Harry off to the prize counter.

 

_“I believe those small gold and silver tokens in the clear boxes are what you are after, my Master.”_  

 

Harry looked behind the counter at a glass locked case where a line of the thin, square tokens in thick plastic boxes were arranged. The gold tokens were worth 5000 balls each, and the silver were worth 1000 balls, definitely the money exchange items. He waited for the counter assistant to finish pouring his collection into a counter and hand him the printed receipt of his winnings, then pointed toward the tokens. Harry was surprised to find he had just enough on his voucher for one gold token, with a little bit left over. After some looking around, he got a toothbrush set and a pack of kleenex.

 

Then it was a short walk around the building with instructions from Diarmuid, and Harry walked through a paper plastered glass door into a tiny room with just enough space to stand before a counter blocked off with a wall and bars. He passed the token through a metal dip under a glass window, and a man on the other side took it, counted out some bills, and passed them back through. Harry put them in his wallet quickly and left.

 

Once back on the street, Harry sighed and headed back to the train station. There were a lot of cheap food shops there. As he walked down the alley, he pulled his wallet back out and flicked through the five bills nestled within. _Recreo!_ He pulled the real bills out, put his wallet away, and pulled his pack around to stick the money in a pouch inside.

 

_“Will we head to Fuyuki now?”_

 

Harry pulled his bag back on straight and rubbed his neck tiredly when he stopped at a street crossing. _“Er, no. We have a lot more than I thought we would get--yen is doing really well right now--but it’s not enough to last us a week, even if I duplicate it and no one notices.”_

 

_“And you would not feel safe enough to do that.”_

 

_“Nope,”_ Harry thought as he walked with the crowd toward the station. _“Governments get really mad about counterfeiting, and I do not want to have to flee a manhunt.”_

 

_“Especially when you do not know the language well,”_ Diarmuid said thoughtfully. _“Very well. Then we shall have to earn more funds. Will it be at the same place, or shall I hunt down another not-a-gambling-hall for you to use?”_

 

_“A different one--hang on!”_ Harry stopped before a directory and frowned. _“How do you know I don’t know Japanese? I’ve been getting around alright!”_

 

_“I meant no offense, my Master, it is simply…”_ Diarmuid sighed as if he just realized he’d said something he shouldn’t have. _“You... just now, when you were collecting your winnings at the parlor, you were asked very specific questions about what you wished to do with your voucher, and some items were suggested, but you only smiled and pointed.”_

 

_“No offense taken. I just didn’t realize it was that obvious,”_ Harry said with a shrug, then began actually looking at the directory. _“It’s not like I’m completely lost--I can read alright, and I do sort of know what most people are saying. Just...it’s been awhile.”_

 

_“I would have told you what was being said if I thought you truly did not know anything, my Master.”_

 

_“You do actually remember my name, right?”_ Harry hummed as he located a convenience store on the map, then blinked and looked up. _“Wait a second--_ you _understand Japanese?”_

 

_“Well… yes. I suppose I do.”_

 

_“How?! You’re Irish! You’ve been dead for ages!”_

 

_“The Grail gave me the knowledge,”_ Diarmuid said simply.

 

Harry sputtered and turned away from the directory with a huff. _“Well, that’s bloody useful!”_

 

_“Forgive me, I should have told you--”_

 

_“No, no, not--I mean--you’re a spirit!”_ Harry rushed to stop Diarmuid before he could do the kneeling-without-a--oh. There he goes. He sighed and rubbed his forehead. _“I don’t mean you’ve done anything wrong, just--this Grail seems to give you a lot of random information!”_

 

Harry felt Diarmuid hesitate and seem to look up at him. He shoved his hands in his pockets and walked off through the station with a huff.

 

_“I mean--it told you the name of the city the Grail War takes place in, but didn’t tell you exactly where that was! It gave you knowledge of Japanese and stuff that’s in the modern world, but didn’t tell you how everything actually works! It just seems really haphazard to me, that’s all. And it’s not your fault!”_

 

_“I see.”_

 

Harry worried his lip while he found his way to the convini--a Seven-11--tucked away with an entrance on the street and an entrance to the station. He started browsing the large fresh pack section of box lunches and microwaveable foods while Diarmuid watched.

 

_“Perhaps the Grail gave me only enough information to...compliment my Master’s own knowledge.”_

 

_“What?”_ Harry frowned as he was picking up some triangle shaped rice balls wrapped in seaweed and plastic.

 

_“It seems that everything I do not know, you do or can find out,” Diarmuid said slowly. “And what you do not know, I do or can find out. We...are working well together, with what the Grail has gifted us.”_

 

Harry juggled the stack of food and went to look for a basket, thinking hard. _“I suppose. But what you know would be more useful if you could walk around…”_

 

Diarmuid was quiet while Harry tipped his items into a basket, then went searching down another aisle. _“I could…”_ he said uncertainly.

 

Harry looked up from studying a line of bottled drinks. _“You could...Oh! You can go back to your physical form!”_ He blinked, then laughed and reached for the cold case door to pull out two large tea bottles. _“I’m sorry. I’ve been running around and got so tired, I actually forgot you came in a body in the first place!”_

 

_“Then...you would not mind if I assumed physical form?”_ Diarmuid asked hesitantly. Oh drat. Somehow Harry had managed to ignore the spirit into feeling like he had to stay in spirit form all the time.

 

_“Not in the middle of a crowd!”_ Harry said hurriedly. He turned to take his basket to the checkout line. _“Hmm, and your clothes are pretty weird for this era, so we’ll have to go shopping first, but… yeah! Once we get somewhere quiet, you can change back, and we’ll get you some modern clothes.”_ He hoped the spirit didn’t take offense over what Harry said about his outfit. _“It would be a lot of help to have someone in person who can fluently translate if anything comes up.”_

 

_“I would be honored, my Master!”_ Diarmuid only sounded excited and pleased.

 

_“Of course, if you’re going to walk around with me, you’ll have to use my name.”_

 

Harry smiled and made his purchases. When he left, he veered off to an out of the way corner and put everything into his pack. The new bills he’d received as change got the same treatment as the ones he got from the token exchange. As soon as everything was in its proper place, he stood and grinned at the air.

 

_“So, why don’t we go find a department store and get you some clothes then?”_ He could eat on the way, then they could find another pachinko parlor nearby.

 

Diarmuid laughed. _“With pleasure, my Master!”_

 

_“I’m seriously wondering if you do remember my name.”_

 

_“Of course!”_ Diarmuid finally responded to Harry’s ribbing.

 

_“Really? Bit of a shock since you never use it.”_

 

Diarmuid became suddenly silent again. Seriously, such a strange thing to be stubborn about.

 

Harry shook his head wryly and strode off, looking for a station directory, with the spirit following behind him when,

  
_“May I ask...what is a department store?”_

 

 


	4. Fuyuki City

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, sorry it's been a while since updating! If you were familiar with me before, you know this sort of updating is par the course with me! If you're new.... well, you will learn. o__o Especially now! Cause, I'm getting pulled into some other fandoms and that's always bad news for my fics.... ^^;; Heh, I will try to get more for this out though! Just..wish me luck.

**Fuyuki City**

 

Clothes shopping with an ancient Irish warrior turned out to be pretty hilarious in Harry’s opinion, and that wasn’t just the sleep deprivation talking. 

 

Diarmuid had been initially quite eager to stroll through a department store on foot, so Harry had decided to wander the building from the bottom up until they found men’s wear. Each huge floor filled to bursting with products to buy had delighted the spirit, and Harry enjoyed walking in his excited wake as he hurried from one display to the next.

 

Unfortunately, after four floors, they finally had to deal with the one sour point of the outing. 

 

Diarmuid was actually a very handsome man, so of course women really liked to crowd around the spirit when they saw him. Diarmuid hated it. At least, Harry assumed he did. The spirit smiled the whole time they walked in a big loop from the lift and back on every floor as more and more women joined the crowd. But to Harry’s eyes, it looked like the type of smile that was pasted on and held steady with an iron will. 

 

When Harry realised Diarmuid was truly upset, he didn’t bother wandering through the displays of goods, instead turning straight back to the lift to find men’s wear, and up they went...with part of the crowd still packed into the elevator with them. 

 

They only really escaped when they got to the men’s changing room. Harry left Diarmuid to hide while he went through the floor, searching for appropriate outfits for the spirit to try on. By the time he came back, some employees had convinced the women to return to their own shopping, and many had wandered off as if they’d forgotten what they came for.

 

The shopping trip went much better after that. In an effort to cheer the spirit up, Harry brought back anything that caught his eye. Some of the clothes were genuinely chosen because he thought Diarmuid might like them, but some were downright ridiculous and more likely to make the spirit question his master’s, and the era’s, taste. 

 

Harry was positive that Diarmuid did figure out at least half the clothes he was brought were only for laughs, but he still put everything on with good humor. The spirit even surprised Harry, coming out in some of the more peculiar fashion pieces to pose and saunter comically until Harry fell off his chair from laughing, and a floor manager came over to ask them to calm down.

 

Eventually though, they had two outfits for Diarmuid, one of which he put on the wear out, and the other which joined Harry’s own clothes in his bag. Only two outfits, because the spirit refused to waste any more of Harry’s money, and nothing Harry said could convince him otherwise. At least he seemed satisfied with his new clothing, as well as being able to walk around freely.

 

He was less enthusiastic walking into another pachinko parlor, but so was Harry really. At least having physical company in the midst of all the noise and smoke was a comfort, so Harry was able to power though for longer than that morning. When he and Diarmuid went to collect their winnings, Harry decided it was enough for at least a couple of weeks. He figured it was safe to keep the same money and duplicate from it for a few months before he needed to worry about getting new bills. 

 

That plan was a good thing to bring up when it came time to buy train tickets to Fuyuki, because neither Harry nor Diarmuid had expected them to be quite as expensive as they turned out to be.

 

Harry’s obvious shock over the price made the knightly spirit try to insist he would continue to travel in spirit form, and only Harry’s pressing the “ACCEPT” button and printing out the two tickets had stopped him from trying to vanish right there. This resulted in Diarmuid subtly sulking for most of the six hour trip, while Harry tried to reason with him until he fell asleep, leaning against the quiet Heroic Spirit.

 

Harry tried not to be embarrassed when he found out he’d been drooling on Diarmuid’s arm for most of the ride, and told himself that sleeping was apparently a good way to win an argument with Diarmuid, as all discussion of wasted money was dropped when he woke up. This left Harry free to get them a room for two in a reasonable hotel he found in a pamphlet at the Fuyuki station, no matter that it was more expensive than a room for one.

 

Of course, that backfired nicely as soon as they walked into the room they’d be sharing for however long the Grail War would last.

 

“You know, I really should have seen this coming,” Harry muttered as he stared down at the bed. 

 

“I can stay in spirit form while you sleep,” Diarmuid said with a rueful smirk. “Or I can keep watch. As a spiritual being, I don’t actually need to sleep.”

 

“Whatever’s comfortable for you,” Harry said with a shrug. “Sleep or don’t or whatever!” He swung his bag off and tossed it on the double bed, the  _ only _ bed, in the small room. “I really do wonder though, what the hell is in a single person room?”

 

Their hotel room was barely big enough for the bed, shoved against a wall and leaving only a small aisle between it and the desk with a T.V. and mini fridge, where he and Diarmuid were currently standing. A short cushioned bench was shoved against the wall between the dest and the window. The small aisle widened into a small hall that led to the door and a cramped bathroom. He wasn’t really sure what he expected, but he was too tired to complain.

 

“You should sleep, my Master,” Diarmuid said gently. “It is late, you have a bed, and you have done all you can for now.”

 

“I should probably get more food,” Harry said with a glance at his bag, much lighter after he finished off the rice balls and one of the large tea bottles. “And my name is Harry.”

 

“We can find more food in the morning,” Diarmuid reasoned. “Rest, Master Harry. I shall watch over you and scout the area. Tomorrow we can gather more resources and plan our next move.”

 

Harry sighed, rubbing his eyes. Bloody spirit. “You sure you don’t need to sleep yourself?”

 

The spirit shook his head with a wide grin. “That should only be necessary if I run low on mana, and you have me well supplied, my Master!”

 

Harry frowned, thinking he must mean from summoning him and finally nodded. “Alright then. Don’t get in too much trouble.” 

 

Then he shoved his bag to the floor, toed off his shoes and climbed under the stiff blanket. Napping on trains had not been enough, and even as crisp and cold as the sheets were, the bed felt like a little piece of Heaven for the few minutes it took before Harry was out.

 

   

 

_ Men were running through a wide field, bathed in sunlight. There was shouting but wind beat against Harry’s ears so he couldn't make it out. There was a familiar figure ahead, facing several men with swords and spears. The man’s back was to him, and he held the hand of a beautiful woman standing beside him... _

 

_ There was a fire roaring in another dark, round room, filled with cheering, singing people. The man was there again, laughing and drinking with friends, and raising his cup with the rest toward one end of the room. A man and woman sat at the head of a table, set on a pedestal, eating from a feast laid out just for them. Around the room, similar foods were spread across long tables, and men and women wandered around eating whatever they picked up… _

 

_ The room was quiet, the fire from before was banked, and moonlight streamed in from high above, where there was a hole in the center of the thatched roof. A woman was murmuring in the quiet. She woke the man, and wept onto his shoulder… _

 

Harry blinked awake, feeling cool air on his arms and his head pounding with a headache. He sat up slowly and found himself alone.

 

He...was dreaming about Diarmuid, he was sure of it! But why?

 

He got up to go to the bathroom to wash up, and was just finishing when Diarmuid returned. Harry stared at him, maybe a little too blankly, because the spirit stopped smiling in the middle of telling him of what he’d learned about Fuyuki so far.

 

“Master?” Diarmuid’s voice snapped Harry out of his thoughts, and he shook his head.

 

“Nothing, sorry. What were you saying?”

 

The spirit frowned, watching him worriedly, but didn’t comment. “I was saying I have found several places like the  _ ‘convini’  _ you bought food at before, as well as some restaurants you may like if you want something more substantial.” 

 

Harry nodded and walked over to the bed to put his socks on. “Thanks. What do you feel like eating?”

 

“Whatever you would like best, my Master.” 

 

Harry gave him an exhausted stare, and finally Diarmuid smiled again. 

 

“As a spirit, I also do not need to eat. Though I will try anything you recommend.”

 

Harry rolled his eyes. “Anything else, oh spirit?” 

 

Diarmuid frowned. “I can sense that another Heroic Spirit is somewhere in the city, but I cannot locate them. Also,” he looked out the window in confusion, “I think we are the only two Spirits that have been summoned so far.”

 

“How many need to be summoned again?”

 

“Seven Heroic Spirits,” Diarmuid answered. “The other Masters should have made their summonings on or close to the same night. It can be dangerous if they do not, as a Master without a Servant to protect them makes for a tempting target to the less honorable sort.”

 

Harry hummed and picked up his bag with a thoughtful look. “Sounds like maybe Archibald was trying to get an advantage then. I wonder who else summoned early?” He headed for the door with a shrug. “Oh well, any idea when everyone else is going to summon and start this weird War?”

 

“Technically any night should be suitable, but given that two Servants have been summoned already, the other Masters may be planning their rituals for the full moon, to gain the most Heavenly blessing they can.”

 

“That’s this weekend, isn’t it?” Harry pursed his lips. “Drat, I’m going to have to add some more days to our room. I thought this would be starting immediately, but we’ve got a while to mess about.” He grinned at Diarmuid before racing down the hall to the lift. He called over his shoulder, “I guess that means we can have a relaxing vacation before worrying about any battles!”

 

“There is still one Servant already summoned in the city,” Diarmuid cautioned as he followed more sedately.

 

“Yeah, but you said no one’s supposed to start fighting until the War starts, and  _ that _ doesn’t start until all seven servants are summoned!  _ So!” _ Harry whirled to face Diarmuid when he reached the lift doors. “We are on holiday!”

 

Diarmuid caught up with a rueful sigh and smiled. “As you wish, though I think we should take the opportunity to scout the territory at least.”

 

“Sightseeing!” Harry said excitedly. “We’ll have to get one of those instant cameras, a Kodak or whatever!”

 

“As my Master wishes,” Diarmuid said with a bow. 

 

“Harry, you better use it in public-- _ Harry!” _

 

Diarmuid nodded seriously, and Harry imagined there was a teasing glint to the spirit’s eyes.

 

Harry rolled his eyes with a huff and pressed the button for the lift. Diarmuid waited beside him, pleasantly quiet and not even the slightest bit smug. He was starting to think the spirit had a will of steel, even if only for the weirdest thing.

 

   

 

Fuyuki was a small city, but it was still a city, and therefore very busy. Harry let Diarmuid lead the way to another Seven-11 and happily bought up a mountain of riceballs in a variety of flavors. He may have gotten some odd looks for the huge pile he brought to the counter, along with four more large bottles of tea, but Harry liked keeping a stash with him too much to care what anyone thought. Although Diarmuid brought up one concern with buying so much at once after they left.

 

“Won’t so much food spoil before you can eat it?” the spirit asked, trying not to sound worried.

 

“This is for you to eat too, you know.” Harry glanced at him with a smirk before leading the way into an empty alley. “And I’m going to take care of that spoiling problem right now.”

 

Diarmuid watched curiously as Harry set the plastic bags on the ground and sat down. He swung his bag to the ground beside him and started picking riceballs out of the bags, one by one. “Asservo!” was muttered carefully for each one before Harry placed it into his opened backpack. He kept this up until only two riceballs were left, and loaded all the tea bottles into his bag, then stood up with a stretch. The plastic bags were bunched up and shoved in his pack before he zipped it up.

 

“There!” he said with a grin. “Now they won’t spoil.” He turned to Diarmuid looking at his bag on the ground with a puzzled frown, and held out one of the riceballs he’d kept. “Want breakfast?”

 

The spirit looked surprised as he took the food, then watched as Harry picked up his bag and swung it onto his back and started walking. Harry unwrapped his riceball and ate as he walked out onto the street again.

 

Diarmuid followed, looking between the plastic wrapped triangle of rice in his hand and Harry before him. “Isn’t that heavy?” Harry glanced over his shoulder. Diarmuid gestured to the bag on his back. “I could carry it for you.”

 

Harry shook his head. “Don’t worry. I have a Feather-Light charm on it. It won’t get heavy no matter how much I put in it.”

 

They walked to a street-crossing and waited for the light to change. Harry finished his food, and shrugged the bag off slightly to reach in and pull out one of the bottles.

 

“How much can you put into it?” Diarmuid asked as Harry took a long gulp. 

 

“Oh?” Harry looked up at the spirit. “You noticed, huh?” Diarmuid’s eyes slid to Harry’s bag as it was zipped up and resettled on his back. “It also has an expansion charm on it,” Harry explained. “It’s not bottomless or anything, but the capacity is closer to walking around with a storage closet.”

 

Diarmuid’s eyes widened. “I see. That is very useful!” Harry grinned at him and he glanced away, back at the riceball he had yet to unwrap. “Thank you for explaining to me.”

 

“No problem!” Harry said as they started walking again. “If you need anything carried, just tell me, alright? We are teammates after all.” 

 

Diarmuid didn’t answer, but after a few minutes of quiet walking and looking around at the businesses and people of Fuyuki’s downtown district, Harry heard the crinkle of plastic being unwrapped. He smiled up at the pale blue sky while the spirit ate his snack. 

 

“Fuyuki is on the sea, isn’t it?” Harry said thoughtfully. He glanced over at Diarmuid, holding his riceball carefully as he ate. “We should go to the beach!”

 

“It is late fall.” Diarmuid looked at him with a worried frown. “The cold air--”

 

“Will be so refreshing!” Harry said excitedly. “The ocean breeze is so nice--and cool weather just means we’ll have it all to ourselves!”

 

“I wouldn’t call the weather cool,” the spirit said with a sigh. But he made no further argument and went back to taking careful bites of his food. 

 

Harry grinned and started looking for street signs. He had a map he’d bought at the train station yesterday, and several pamphlets about interesting spots in the city. He didn’t know how the Grail War was going to go, if it was a good idea to go along with it when neither he nor Diarmuid had any real interest in it, but he was determined to have a little fun while he had the chance.

 

He hadn’t been with Clock Tower long, but he had seen enough to know that not just Archibald would be hunting for him once the dust from this magic war settled. As soon as the Grail War started, Harry’s quiet life in the background of the world would be officially over.

 

   

 

They didn’t find their way to the beach. Instead, Harry became distracted with the big red bridge they saw while walking along busy streets toward the river. Diarmuid only offered that it would make for a good lookout, as one should be able to see the whole city from the top of it. Harry wouldn’t let them climb up it, but he was pleased to find it had very nice paths for pedestrians to walk across it. The pedestrian paths were actually separate from the road, running on a lower level than the cars used, closer to the water.

 

Which Diarmuid immediately mentioned made them useless for scanning the city.

 

“I get that you want to scout the land and all,” Harry said as they watched the water flow below them. He rather liked how warm the sun was standing by the railing, and the breeze over the water was pleasant too. Even the cars moving above them faded into a nice background hum. “But, you know, there isn’t any need to get so serious now. There’s only one other Servant you said. Relax!”

 

Diarmuid looked out at the river. Harry sighed and straightened up from leaning against the rail. He really didn’t like when the spirit shut down like that. As if he wasn’t able to say whatever he thought!

 

“Alright then, what should we do next?” Harry said placidly. Diarmuid looked up at him, face still empty of anything but a bland pleasantness. Harry frowned and started walking.

 

“Master Harry?”

 

“You wanted to prepare for the War, right?” Harry said, looking over his shoulder. “So what should we do?”

 

“I cannot order my Master--” Diarmuid tried to say before Harry cut him off.

 

“I’m not asking you to-!” Harry took a deep breath, then turned to the spirit and started again. “You’re a warrior, right?”

 

Diarmuid looked at him, face finally showing something again, even if it was uncertainty. “Yes…”

 

“And you understand best how you fight?”

 

“...Yes.”

 

“Then, what should we do to help you best?” Harry asked reasonably. Diarmuid was looking at him completely gobsmacked, as if he never would have expected Harry to say such a thing. Harry sighed again. “I’m sorry.”

 

“What--my Master!” Diarmuid looked panicked and fell to his knee, head bowed so low his hair nearly touched the concrete. Harry flinched back and looked around. Merlin, they were lucky no one else was on the bridge just now! “Please forgive me!”

 

“I--what the hell,” Harry muttered, looking down at the spirit, totally lost. 

 

“I have failed in my task as your knight, forcing my own desires over your own, and yet you are still gracious enough to take the blame onto yourself!” Diarmuid was shaking and refused to look up. If he did, he’d probably only be more upset at seeing Harry’s face. “I do not deserve to call you my Master!”

 

Diarmuid seemed to choke up, as if he couldn’t bare to continue laying out his sins for Harry to judge. Harry stared at him, still in shock, while the spirit awaited Harry’s response as if he was expecting a death sentence. 

 

Gulls calling finally brought Harry back to himself and he let out a tired breath. 

 

“ _ Merlin _ ...I never thought I’d meet anyone more messed up than me,” he said under his breath. He gave the huddled spirit a sad look then sat down before him with a loud huff.

 

“My Lord!” Diarmuid looked up, horrified to find Harry on the ground.

 

“Do  _ not _ call me that!” Harry cut him off before he could say something ridiculous, like Harry shouldn't be touching the same dirt as him. The spirit flinched at his voice though, and his face just crumpled before he went back to bowing. “Oh damn,” Harry muttered, rubbing his neck. He was so bad at this sort of thing.

 

“Look,” he leaned forward and tried to peer at Diarmuid’s face, but the spirit had his eyes clenched shut. “You haven’t done anything wrong, alright?” The spirit didn’t answer or look up. Harry bit his lip and put a hand on Diarmuid’s shoulder. It shuddered under his touch. “You haven’t!” he repeated forcefully. “I’d tell you if you had, alright?”

 

Diarmuid shook his head and still didn’t look up. Harry leaned forward and squeezed his shoulder.

 

“I promise! I-” Harry blinked as a thought occurred to him. Hadn’t Diarmuid introduced himself as a knight? “I swear to you!” he said loudly, and at that the spirit jerked. “I swear, I will always tell you if you do something wrong. I won’t apologize, or ignore it, or do anything else ridiculous and just expect you to guess.” 

 

Diarmuid finally looked up at Harry, his eyes too lost to be hopeful, but at least they weren’t closed anymore.

 

“I swear, I  _ will _ tell you if you do something wrong, or that upsets me, or anything,” Harry said again, as seriously as he could to match the weight of those eyes on him. “So don’t go acting like you’ve done something wrong if I haven’t told you, alright?”

 

Diarmuid stared at him, a frown twitching between his brows, as if trying to judge Harry’s sincerity. Harry tried to give him a reassuring smile.

 

“Trust me,” he said quietly. Diarmuid’s eyes widened as he stared at Harry, then bowed his head again.

 

“Yes, my Master!” he whispered fiercely.

 

Harry wasn’t sure if this was progress or not, but he let go of the spirit and sat back.

 

“And I  _ am  _ sorry,” he said. Diarmuid looked up quickly at that, ready to argue with another self-deprecating apology of his own. Because that made so much sense the first time. 

 

Harry frowned at him and raised a hand. The spirit settled, but he looked incredibly uncomfortable. “Look, I wasn’t really treating this whole War seriously, and,” Harry glanced away in shame, “I wasn’t treating you seriously either. So, I’m sorry.”

 

“I...do not understand,” Diarmuid said quietly.

 

Harry found he was the one having a hard time meeting his companion’s eyes now. “I-- I don’t really care about much,” he said slowly. “I have no goals for the Grail. The only thing I really care about right now is getting enough to eat, relaxing in the sun, and having fun once in awhile-- whether I take part in the War or not.”

 

Harry glanced briefly at Diarmuid. The spirit was watching him steadily, his earlier uncertainty missing. Harry frowned and looked away.

 

“I don’t regret getting involved in this War, but I don’t have any intention of going along with it fully either.” Harry shrugged vaguely, looking out at the sky changing color over the river. “So, I was kinda of just...not taking it seriously. But, the other people involved will probably treat it as life and death, huh?”

 

Harry glanced at Diarmuid and the spirit nodded seriously, but without any outward sign of judgment. Harry sighed and nodded himself.

 

“Yeah, I figured. I just, I can’t bring myself to care, but,” he looked up at the spirit. “But it’s not fair to anyone if I treat this like a game, is it?”

 

Diarmuid’s expression as he looked back was unreadable, but it struck Harry as more intense than the empty face he’d had before this whole blow-up.

 

“And you too,” Harry gestured at Diarmuid. “I didn’t really take you seriously when you said you pledged yourself to me, and that you wanted to fight noble battles and such.”

 

“I am true to my word, Master! I will serve you--” Diarmuid finally reacted beyond silently listening, leaning toward Harry with a desperate glint entering his eyes again.

 

“I know!” Harry said quickly, waving at the knightly spirit to quiet him. “I...know that now, anyway.”

 

Diarmuid settled, though Harry was disappointed to realize he’d probably ruined whatever progress they’d made by admitting so much.

“It’s not your fault when I’m an idiot, okay?” Harry said as he rubbed his neck stressfully. “You were being completely honest, and I didn’t know how to deal with you, or with this Grail War, so I did what I always do!” 

 

Harry looked at Diarmuid watching him so carefully and sighed. “I just went along halfheartedly and stopped paying attention as soon as I could.”

 

Diarmuid looked confused, but he seemed to be trying to understand what Harry was saying. “If you have no desire to participate in the Grail War, you needn’t do so for my sake. I am content to serve you in whatever endeavor you choose.”

 

“I’m explaining this really poorly. What I’m trying to say is that it doesn’t matter to me what I do!” Harry waved an arm uselessly toward the city. “If I participate in the War, or run away to Australia, or just sleep for the next three weeks-- that’s all the same to me!”

 

Diarmuid's face was unreadable again. Harry hissed through his teeth and glared at him.

 

“I don’t care about anything, alright! That’s why I asked you what  _ you _ wanted to do! Because whatever you wanted would at least be a direction to move in.” Harry held his forehead in a hand with his elbow braced against his knee. “But, I feel bad for not taking you and this whole War thing seriously, because...it, you-- it feels like this matters a lot more to you than just something to do to eat up time.”

 

_ “Eat _ up time?” Diarmuid murmured with an air of shock. “Master Harry! Please, I would not waste your time with trivialities!”

 

“I  _ know!” _ Harry moaned, rubbing his eyes. “That’s why I’m apologizing!” He sat up to look at the spirit, stone-faced and thinking Merlin only knows what. “I was just fooling around, and I didn’t take you at your word before, and I’m sorry for that. I-- I didn’t realize how important this, er,  _ lord _ thing is to you, and I was kind of ignoring you. So, I’m sorry.”

 

Harry knew he’d made a few uncomfortable faces through that whole speech, but Diarmuid didn’t react to any of them. He didn’t react when Harry finished and sat quietly waiting for a response either. Harry was starting to get nervous. Then Diarmuid closed his eyes and took a slow breath.

 

“You have no need to apologize to me. I will surely prove my loyalty and worth to you, whether I fight for you in the War or not.” Diarmuid gave Harry a self-assured smile. “Though I am grateful for your courtesy toward me. Truly I am honored to have you for my Master.”

 

Harry blinked, surprised at how calm the spirit was. “I just don’t want you to just be miserable the whole time you’re summoned, it’s not like you had any choice in this,” he said.

 

Diarmuid smiled wider. “I think, while serving you I will be the furthest thing from miserable.”

 

“Even if I’m more interested in sightseeing than fighting over the Grail?” Harry asked skeptically. The spirit had been looking forward to the battles, there was no way he wasn’t disappointed.

 

“I can think of nothing better than to guard my Master as you enjoy yourself,” Diarmuid said gently, and Harry had the sudden impression that the spirit was trying to comfort him now.

 

“So you wouldn’t mind if a bunch of other revived Heroic Spirits were running around having duels while you were stuck napping on the beach?” Harry was only a little snide. But seriously, wasn’t Diarmuid the one who’d been panicking only a few minutes ago?

 

“I would be a poor knight were I to demand my Master take part in a battle he had no cause to join,” Diarmuid said seriously.

 

“So you’ll just watch?”

 

“I will do as my Master bids,” the spirit said with a gentle smile.

 

Harry frowned. “But you want to fight.”

 

“I want to serve my Master to the best of my ability.”

 

Harry thought they could probably argue themselves in a circle now. Diarmuid wanted Harry to act as the leader, and Harry wanted Diarmuid to pick their course-- which was to do whatever Harry decided on. An endless circle.

 

“So...are we going to get involved with the Grail War at all then?” Harry asked curiously. “I mean, I still think it’s fine if you want to meet some of the other heroes for, I donno, mock duels?” Harry frowned. That didn’t seem like something that would appeal to an ancient knight. 

 

“A chance to battle for my Master’s honor, above even the prize of the Grail?” Diarmuid grinned like a shark. “That would be truly wondrous, to defend my Master before other warriors of legendary skill!”

 

Yep, there it was. Diarmuid really,  _ really _ wanted to take part. He just couldn’t say that he wanted to. 

 

Harry smiled weakly back at the spirit and looked out at the city. The sky was burning and slowly turning dark, they should probably get back to the hotel. He turned back to Diarmuid.

 

“Okay, then you should just tell me what we should do to get ready,” Harry said with a flat look. “I don’t know what you’re capable of, so if you want to do your best, you should know what would help you.”

 

Diarmuid regarded him seriously, but eventually nodded. “As you wish, my Master.”

 

“Great!” Harry said and stood up. His rear was sore from sitting on concrete for so long, and he wished he’d put up a warming charm because only now that he was standing did he realize he was shivering. Diarmuid on the other hand, looked perfectly fine. Harry did his best not to frown though, the knight was sure to take it the wrong way. “How about we talk about it over dinner? I’m starving. You can pick.”

 

“Pick?” Diarmuid said curiously as he stood, no sign of a sore knee or cramped muscles.

 

“When you looked around last night did you see any restaurants that looked good?” Harry said as he swung his bag on his back. The spirit seemed to consider this for a moment, then nodded hesitantly. Harry grinned widely. “Then lead the way,” he gestured down the bridge.

 

Harry didn't know how coming to Fuyuki would turn out, but he thought getting Diarmuid to be more decisive was going to be fun at least. 

 

 


End file.
